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We rush through our days in such stress and intensity, as if we were here to stay and the serious project of the world depended on us. We worry and grow anxious; we magnify trivia until they become important enough to control our lives. Yet all the time, we have forgotten that we are but temporary sojourners on the surface of a strange planet spinning slowly in the infinite night of the cosmos.
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― Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong
― Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong
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The Chattering Season by Stewart Stafford
Hear a fearsome banshee's wail,
From a dank bog or Celtic dale,
Like the pulling of the rat's tail,
In the whistle of a thrashing gale.
In this skittish son of Mc's room,
A death knell tolls out his doom,
A cursed shadow now does loom,
Her spirit bride's unwilling groom.
The stark evening's grim messenger,
She's a maelstrom's fatal passenger,
Howls from last breath's harbinger,
No dowry for this eternal dowager.
© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights r
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